


interlude: i could recognise him by touch alone, by smell

by andrewminyards



Series: we are all the pieces of what we remember [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Human Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Pining, Reincarnation, Role Reversal, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Universe Travel, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, and borrows geralt's clothes, he has many feelings, jaskier does a duet with bard!geralt, there are 2 jaskiers and geralt is smitten for both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewminyards/pseuds/andrewminyards
Summary: The other bard, whose face is so impossibly familiar, lets out a choked sound. “Jaskier?How are youhuman- how are you here?”Frowning, Jaskier looks at the bard, and it’s with shock that he recognises the familiar lines of that face, with features that he knows better than his own, and he sees -“Geralt?” Jaskier squeaks, staring at the bard - atGeralt. “You... you’re...”Gone are Geralt’s white hair and the golden eyes and the scars; gone are the swords and the armour. Instead, Geralt has curly red hair and green eyes and freckles, a lute slung over his shoulder, and he looks…He looks human.*When Jaskier stumbles into an alternate universe, he meets another Jaskier, who’s a witcher, and another Geralt, who’s a bard. This alternate version of Jaskier and Geralt are together, and Jaskier pines, longing for his own Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: we are all the pieces of what we remember [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895686
Comments: 86
Kudos: 405





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have,, posted another thing. and i need to stop with the song of achilles titles, i've used too many quotes from there oops
> 
> this is set an indeterminate amount of time after jaskier and geralt have reunited in the main fic, you don't need to have read it to understand this
> 
> BLUSHY GERALT RIGHTS.

Jaskier can do nothing but brace himself as he’s once again torn away from reality, magic spinning around him as he's thrown back into the dizzying, warped world of everything and nothing at once. This time, he’s more prepared for it, prepared for the way he’s thrown through the fabric of reality, through the series of different universes, and it’s all he can do to keep the book clutched tightly against his chest and pray for it to be over.

When the world finally stops spinning, Jaskier slowly opens his eyes. He’s in an empty alleyway, and he shakily gets to his feet, stumbling towards the mouth of the alley to assess where the magic had deposited him this time.

As he peers out, the world slowly swims back into focus, and to his immense relief, he recognises the familiar streets of Novigrad. Thank the gods that he’s in a familiar location this time - he knows his way around Novigrad, and from what he can see, everything seems to be the same, from the bustling markets to the salty scent of the sea.

Maybe - maybe this is _his_ Novigrad. Maybe the book somehow brought him back to where he came from, which means that he can try and seek out Yennefer to help him track down Geralt and Ciri. 

But something tells him that it won’t be this easy, and this might simply be a universe that’s similar to his own, but with subtle differences. Regardless, Novigrad is a familiar place, and even if it isn’t _his_ Novigrad, this at least means that he can probably search the city and ask around for Geralt and Ciri, or even another version of himself, just like the thief he just met. 

Right. So he needs to head out and see whether this Novigrad is in his universe or not, and… he probably needs to get new clothes. Looking down at his current attire, Jaskier grimaces at the thought of wandering the streets in them, but his doublet, stashed at the bottom of his pack, is bloodied and torn, so he’s unfortunately stuck with the too-tight clothes that the thief had given him. It’s not like he has much of a choice.

His lute is still slung over his shoulder - he can probably find a tavern and perform, earning enough coin so that he can buy some new clothes and look less out of place. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, but earning a bit of coin wouldn’t hurt, then he can find Geralt and Ciri, or Yennefer, and sort out whatever the fuck is happening to him.

Stashing the book into his pack, Jaskier heads out of the alley and makes his way through the familiar streets, ignoring the way people stop and stare at his definitely-not-period-appropriate attire, and he has to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders and make himself smaller. Weaving his way through the crowds of people, Jaskier heads towards a tavern he’s played at multiple times before.

He pushes open the door of the tavern, entering a dimly-lit room filled with dozens of patrons, laughing and talking and drinking, and it’s so familiar after the mess of - whatever that was that tension eases from his shoulders, and he heads over to the barkeep.

“Um, hi.” Jaskier waves in the barkeep’s face, trying to get his attention. “Do you think I can, uh, play for a while?”

The barkeep eyes the battered lute on Jaskier’s back before his gaze drifts down to what Jaskier is wearing. “We only accept actual bards in this establishment, pretty boy. Go find somewhere else and do your...” He lifts a disdainful eyebrow at Jaskier’s outfit. “Do your _work_ elsewhere.”

“Ah, but I’m Jaskier, the master bard,” Jaskier tries. Hopefully this is his universe, and if it isn’t, hopefully there’s a Jaskier here somewhere, and hopefully the _real_ Jaskier isn’t nearby and won’t accuse him of being a doppler. “Surely you’ve heard of me? I’m sure your patrons would love to listen to me play.”

“Ain’t heard of no ‘master bard’ or this ‘Jaskier’, boy,” the barkeep grumbles. He’s already losing interest in Jaskier, his gaze drifting towards a busty woman making her way towards the bar. “You know what? Stop pestering me. Go play, or whatever. If you ain’t any good I’ll kick you out.”

Jaskier nods gratefully, heading over to the stage, but his mind whirs as he takes in the barkeep’s words. Perhaps the barkeep simply hasn’t heard of his reputation, though that seems unlikely, given that this is one of the most popular taverns in Novigrad. So maybe Jaskier doesn’t even exist here, or he never met Geralt and rose to fame, or he never was a bard in the first place - and isn’t that a horrifying thought. 

It’s not helpful to dwell on such things, Jaskier reminds himself as he tunes his lute. What matters is earning enough coin so that he can take care of himself a bit, try and figure out what’s going on, and hopefully find someone who can help him.

Jaskier takes a chance and launches into a popular drinking song that the patrons will hopefully know. They do, singing along merrily, and Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief. At least _some_ things in this universe remain the same. Some of them are giving him strange looks, but most of them seem to enjoy his songs, ignoring his attire. 

He refrains from playing his own songs - after all, if no one has heard of him, then it’s likely that his songs don’t exist here either, so he plays safe, sticking to folk songs and popular ballads written by the greatest composers of the Continent - barring Jaskier himself, of course, which is unfortunate, but necessary - and to his immense relief, none of the songs seem to be unfamiliar to the patrons. 

Playing before an audience is cathartic and relaxing as it always is, and Jaskier is once again reminded of why he’d decided to become a bard in the first palace. The energy from the audience is infectious, and he dances around tables as he sings and plays, letting his voice ring out across the room as he soaks up the enthusiasm from his audience, revelling in their attention.

It’s a wonderful feeling, and his current predicament fades to the back of his mind as he forgets about that horrid monster and Stregobor and where Geralt and Ciri might be, the high of the performance and the joy of music taking over his thoughts. 

When Jaskier finally starts feeling winded, he plays one more song and sinks into a deep bow.

“Well, I’m very glad you’ve enjoyed it, but I’m afraid this lovely voice needs to rest for some time!” When disappointed noises rise from the audience, Jaskier grins. “No worries, I won’t take long. I’ll be back before you know it!”

He heads over to the bar, where the barkeep shoves a tankard of ale at him, and he drinks it greedily, relishing in the way the cool liquid runs down his parched throat.

“You’re a good bard,” the barkeep remarks, surprised, and Jaskier shrugs modestly.

“I get by.”

The barkeep leaves him alone, and Jaskier closes his eyes as he comes down from the high of his performance. He reminds himself that he’s still in trouble, and he shouldn’t forget that, shouldn’t lose himself in his music like this. Geralt and Ciri are still out there. He needs to find them.

He sits there for a while, sipping the ale as he feels his heartbeat return to normal. There’s a commotion behind him, a wave of murmurs running through the patrons as someone enters, but Jaskier pays it no mind, letting his mind drift over the past few days.

The barkeep is talking behind him, and Jaskier hears snatches of “already… bard” and “please, we need…” and “you can ask…” and he tunes the conversation out, thinking about the horrifying monster that had loomed over him, the visceral fear he’d felt, the way Stregobor had gone after Geralt and Ciri, and his heart seizes.

He needs to find them.

“Hey, uh.” A tentative voice comes from behind him, and Jaskier hums, unsure if the speaker is addressing him. “You’re the bard who was playing, right? You see, my companion and I are in desperate need of coin, and I was wondering if you could let me take over playing for a bit?”

Jaskier turns around, ready to deny the other bard’s request - _he_ needs the coin too, after all, and he was here first - but when he meets the bard’s bright green eyes, the bard lets out a choked sound.

“ _Jaskier?_ ”

Jaskier blinks. He’d thought that he didn’t exist in this world, or if he did, he wasn’t known, but this man seems to know him, and Jaskier looks him over, trying to recall whether he’s met this man before. 

The other bard is dressed in dark green silks and has a well-made lute slung over his shoulder. His long red hair falls down his back in unruly curls and his green eyes are wide with shock, and his freckled face tugs at something in the back of Jaskier’s mind, but remains stubbornly out of reach.

This bard is _familiar_ , but Jaskier can’t place it. Perhaps they’d met in Oxenfurt, or on the road, and well, Jaskier doesn’t recognise this bard, so he schools his face into polite confusion.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Do you -” the bard repeats, gaping, and then he shakes his head, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s arm in a firm grip, and Jaskier is too stunned to fight when the other bard drags him to a dark corner of the tavern. 

“Hey!” Jaskier protests, but the bard shoots him a quelling look.

“What are you - how are you - how are you _here_?” The bard demands, voice filled with shock and confusion. His grip on Jaskier’s arm is bruising as he leans in, green eyes scanning over Jaskier’s face. “How, what -”

“Geralt?” An extremely familiar voice asks, and _that voice_ , Jaskier knows that voice far too well, knows it from years of honing it to perfection, knows it from decades of performing in taverns across the Continent, and the face of the thief from the previous universe flashes through his mind - his own face, exactly yet same yet so different.

And Geralt? Where’s Geralt?

Both Jaskier and the other bard turn to face the source of the voice, a white-haired man clad in dark armour with twin swords on his back. He has the golden eyes of a witcher, but his face, _his face_ -

“Geralt, what are you -” Those golden eyes settle on Jaskier, and the witcher’s mouth falls open. “What in the _world_?”

What the _fuck_ , that witcher has his face, and when he’d said _Geralt_ , the other bard had turned around. Jaskier turns to look at the bard, _really_ looks at him, looks past the red hair and the green eyes and the freckles and he sees -

“ _Geralt?_ ” Jaskier squeaks, because _holy shit_.

Jaskier agrees with the witcher - or, well, the witcher version of himself, it seems. What in the _world_?

“You’re - you’re -” Jaskier stutters, his mind jumbled in utter confusion. The other bard has Geralt’s face, but gone are the white hair and the golden eyes and the scars; gone are the swords and the armour and the bulk. Instead, Geralt has red hair and green eyes and freckles; he has a lute slung over his shoulder, he’s dressed in elegant silks, his body is leaner than Jaskier remembers, and he looks…

He looks human.

“Who _are_ you?” The witcher asks menacingly, and gods, it’s _jarring_ to hear a low growl in Jaskier’s own voice. The witcher’s hand moves to the dagger strapped to his hip, and Jaskier looks into golden eyes, set in a scarred, harsher version of the face he sees in the mirror every day, and gods, this is so fucking bizarre.

“I’m Jaskier!” Jaskier says, raising his hands placatingly. The witcher’s hand drops from his dagger, but the wary look remains in his eyes as he steps closer to Geralt protectively. “I promise I’m not a doppler or anything -” He splays his hand out, displaying the numerous silver rings on his fingers, “and I can explain.”

Geralt places a restraining hand on the witcher’s arm. “Jaskier,” he murmurs, and that confirms it. That witcher is another version of himself - Jaskier can’t imagine being a witcher, and yet, here he is. At Geralt’s touch, the other Jaskier relaxes slightly, and Geralt continues, voice soothing, “I don’t think he’s a monster. I don’t know how, but he - he’s _you_.”

Piercing golden eyes bore into his own, eyes that Jaskier is familiar with from years of staring into Geralt’s eyes, but those eyes aren’t set in Geralt’s face, but instead a scarred version of Jaskier’s - and he’s a _witcher_ here. This is - mind-boggling. Unbelievable. 

“Explain,” the other Jaskier demands. 

“Geralt, Ciri, and I were running from Stregobor and a monster he created,” Jaskier recalls, thinking back to the horrid monster, its deadly teeth and its long legs, and represses a shudder at the memory. Geralt opens his mouth at the sound of his name, blinking in confusion, but nothing comes out, and Jaskier clarifies, “Uh, not you, but another Geralt? My Geralt?”

“Your…” Geralt begins slowly, and shakes his head. “Right.”

“Yeah, uh - he’s a witcher?” Jaskier tries to explain, and Geralt inhales sharply. “White hair and yellow eyes and swords and all. But uh, I was with him and Ciri, and Stregobor was after us, and then… I don’t know what happened, but I got separated from them in a portal, and now I seem to be… jumping across universes.”

“Jumping across universes,” his counterpart echoes sceptically, exchanging a look with Geralt. 

“Yeah, and it seems that in this universe, I’m a witcher and Geralt’s a bard, which _totally_ isn’t weird at all. Sorry, Geralt, but I could never imagine you as a _bard_ of all things.” Jaskier takes a breath as he realises he’s rambling, and continues more calmly, “I know it’s hard to believe, but -”

Geralt shakes his head, cutting him off. “It’s not that it’s hard to believe.” There’s pain in his voice and in his eyes as he and Jaskier’s counterpart exchange another look, and Jaskier abruptly feels like there’s more to the story than he knows.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Jaskier says slowly, looking between the witcher and Geralt. The witcher is stony-faced, regarding him with an inscrutable expression, which is _really_ unsettling to see on his own face, and Geralt is nibbling on his bottom lip.

There’s a pause before Jaskier’s counterpart speaks. “We weren’t… we didn’t start out like this. Not really.”

Which makes no sense at all. “What do you mean?” 

His counterpart shuts his eyes for a brief second before opening them and looking straight at Jaskier. “I was born to the viscount of Lettenhove. I went to Oxenfurt and became a bard, and met a witcher in Posada, then followed him around the Continent.”

That story sounds exactly like his own, but his counterpart is clearly not human, and certainly not a bard. Jaskier flounders for a moment. “But…”

“I was a witcher,” Geralt says softly, melancholy in his eyes. “I was brought to Kaer Morhen. I was given extra mutagens. I travelled on the Path for years until…” he trails off and wraps an arm around the witcher’s waist. “Until I met a bard.”

Jaskier _doesn’t get it_.

At his confusion, his counterpart’s lips twist into a bitter smile. “I don’t know what happened. We invoked a spell, or a curse, or something like that, and then I was born into the life of a witcher, given to Kaer Morhen at a young age.” He breathes out shakily, and Geralt leans into him, and Jaskier watches their interactions with an ache in his heart, missing his _own_ Geralt.

“When I was sixteen, I remembered a whole other lifetime where I wasn’t a witcher,” his counterpart whispers, voice pained. “I remembered being a bard, and I remembered loving a witcher, a witcher who I couldn’t find. A witcher who I thought was dead.”

“I’m here,” Geralt breathes out under his breath, turning his head to press a soft kiss to the witcher’s jaw, and _oh. Okay._ Jaskier’s counterpart leans into Geralt’s embrace, their bodies fitting against each other with familiarity borne out of years of intimacy, and Jaskier aches for his own Geralt, yearns for the tender touches that he misses, longs for something that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get to have.

“So…” Jaskier starts awkwardly, and it feels like he’s intruding on a tender, intimate moment as two heads turn to look at him, and he clears his throat. “Wait, so you were… like me? And then something happened to… make you like this?”

“Something happened to bring us here, in a whole different world,” Geralt explains. “The way Jaskier became a witcher, I became a bard. It seems that whatever happened reversed our lives, but no one else was affected, just us.”

“And you found each other again?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods, his green eyes brightening as he turns to the witcher.

“In Posada,” Geralt confirms, a small grin creeping onto his face, and the witcher’s face softens, the harsh lines becoming more familiar to what Jaskier sees in the mirror. 

Is this what people feel like when they talk to him and Geralt? Like they’re witnessing something private, something that shouldn’t be privy to outsiders? The witcher and Geralt clearly know their way around each other, in the same way Jaskier does with his own Geralt, only slightly different. Clearly, in this world, Geralt and Jaskier’s counterpart are… together. 

And isn’t that a revelation.

Jaskier forces his hands to stay still and not fidget as his counterpart and Geralt stare into each other’s eyes, wrapped in their own world for a brief moment while Jaskier flicks his gaze from them to the door, and back again, until Geralt turns away from the witcher to look at Jaskier inquisitively.

“So what happens to you?” Geralt asks, still leaning close to the other Jaskier. “You said you’re jumping across universes.”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier says honestly, thinking about the thief, the strange modern world. “After I was separated from Geralt and Ciri, I landed in… somewhere in the future. Somewhere without magic. Then I - I met another version of myself. Sort of like now.” Jaskier gestures to his counterpart, continuing, “He helped me find a book that seems to be full of magic, and it dropped me in an empty alley not so far from here.”

“Do you stay here for a few days?” His counterpart regards him cautiously, clearly still not completely trusting him. “And you just… disappear.”

Jaskier shrugs helplessly. “I don’t really know. I’m just… hoping I can find my Geralt and Ciri, and hoping that they’ll find me.” He misses them. He misses his family, and he wonders where they are, wonders if they’re still evading Stregobor and that monster, wonders how they’re looking for him. Gods, he _misses_ them, and seeing other versions of Geralt only makes him miss them more. 

“You can stay with us for a while, then,” Geralt offers tentatively. 

“ _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier’s counterpart hisses, shooting Jaskier a wary glance, and Jaskier keeps his face as open and honest as possible. His counterpart is so _guarded_ , and it tugs at his heart to think about what he must have gone through to make him this way, how the Trials and the Path must have jaded him. In stark contrast, Geralt is so much more open, his human upbringing clearly having made him softer and more trusting, and Jaskier wonders whether his Geralt would have turned out the same way too, had he not been a witcher. 

Jaskier loves his own Geralt as he is - a witcher, gruff and quiet from the Path, but kind all the same. Seeing this human Geralt before him is just - it’s making Jaskier think about quite a few things. About what could’ve been. About who Geralt could’ve been.

Jaskier would love him either way, he’s just -

This human version of Geralt is making his head spin.

“What?” Geralt asks, rolling his eyes. “If he means us any harm, you’re more than capable of taking him down, Jaskier.” He blinks, shaking his head, and his red curls fly around in the air at the movement. “Fuck, that’s confusing. We need to have a different name for you two.”

A slight pause, Jaskier and his counterpart staring at each other, before Jaskier’s counterpart offers, “I don’t mind taking Julian. He can take Jaskier.”

Jaskier shrugs, glad that he can at least put a name to Julian in his head now. “Works for me.”

There’s an awkward silence as the three of them look at one another, none of them speaking, until Jaskier feels a yawn creep up on him. He stifles it, but not before Julian sees it.

“Tired?” Julian asks, and Jaskier doesn’t think it’ll get less strange to speak to himself. 

“I guess whatever happened must have drained a lot out of me,” Jaskier admits reluctantly, pushing down another yawn. “I should rest.”

“Go get a room,” Geralt says. “Do you want to join us while you’re staying in our world? It’s probably better than wandering off on your own.”

At Geralt’s invitation, Jaskier has to hide his surprise at how easily Geralt had extended the offer. Right. This Geralt is human. 

“Yeah, sure.” After all, staying with a witcher, even if the witcher is himself, would guarantee that if Stregobor or the monster does come after him, he’ll at least have someone trained in fighting monsters to help him out. “What are your plans?”

“There’s a contract in a village less than a day away,” Julian tells him stiffly. “We were planning on stopping here tonight, then travelling to that village tomorrow. I’ll take the contract the day after.”

It’s a rather strange and disorientating thought - Julian, who’s another version of Jaskier, taking a contract and hunting monsters, a job which has always been reserved for Geralt in Jaskier’s mind, and it’s so _strange_ to think of himself being the one to take a contract. He can’t imagine himself being a witcher, but, well. Here he is, in a universe where he and Geralt’s roles have been reversed in a way he never would’ve thought possible.

“Right, then.” Jaskier starts heading towards where the innkeeper is, the weight of the coins in his pockets likely enough to pay for a night. “See you tomorrow.”

Julian nods at him, and Geralt smiles at him as he leaves, green eyes twinkling. Turning around, Jaskier heads to the innkeeper and pays for a room, and music starts up behind him, a low, pleasant voice floating over, and it takes a moment for Jaskier to realise that the voice is Geralt’s, that it’s _Geralt_ singing.

He sneaks a glance over his shoulder as he heads for the stairs, watching as Geralt plucks at his lute while he sings. Geralt doesn’t dance around like Jaskier tends to do, but he captures the patrons’ attention all the same, the richness of his voice captivating them, and he looks to be in his element, as skilled at the lute as Jaskier himself is, and as unfamiliar as it is to see Geralt as a bard, it suits him. 

Does his Geralt sing? Or had the Trials roughened his voice, ruining his vocal chords, his endless screaming scraping his throat raw? Had the years and years of harsh living weathered his voice until any music had been taken from him?

Jaskier has heard Geralt speak and laugh and growl. But he’s never heard Geralt sing.

Jaskier wonders if he still can.

Just before he heads up the stairs, he catches sight of Julian sitting in a corner, sipping from a tankard of ale with his golden eyes fixed on Geralt, something melancholy in his gaze, and Jaskier’s thoughts drift back to the hard life of a witcher, to the Trials, to the effect they would’ve had on a witcher’s voice. 

Perhaps Julian has lost his music as well, and the thought is as horrifying as it is heartbreaking.

If Jaskier lost his music… he doesn’t know what he would do. He doesn’t know if he would be able to cope - but somehow, Julian must have clawed through the hard years of his life without the joy of music and song, replacing it with the bloody slash of a silver sword.

A witcher. Not a bard. Made for war and violence, far from the lyrical harmony of music.

Jaskier wonders if Julian misses singing, misses being a bard - after all, Julian had been in his position once, even if it must have been decades ago for him now. Julian had been a bard once, had gone to Oxenfurt, his hands callused from the strings of a lute instead of the leather grip of a sword. His life had once been shaped by music, just as Jaskier’s is.

Once upon a time, Julian and Jaskier had been the same person.

If Jaskier were in Julian’s position - and he can’t imagine that, can’t let himself imagine a world where his lute doesn’t rest in his hands and his voice doesn’t lilt out in song - he thinks that he would be broken. He would miss music and singing and his lute with every beat of his heart, would yearn and ache for the joy and life that floods him every time he plays or composes a song, and Jaskier’s heart hurts for this harder, more jaded version of himself who’s lost his music.

Music is a fundamental part of Jaskier, carved deep into the depths of his soul. Who is he without it? Who is Julian?

He enters his room, dumping his pack on the floor before flopping onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The thought of Julian, of losing his music, is too much, and Jaskier tries to steer his mind away from the terrifying prospect of his music being torn away from him.

Instead, he thinks of Geralt, and it doesn’t hurt any less. Seeing this Geralt, human and breakable and so open, reminds Jaskier of his own Geralt, and it’s _painful_ to think that his Geralt is out of reach, so far away that Jaskier may have to travel across multiple universes to even have a chance of finding him. And yet, there’s a Geralt in this universe, even though he’s different, but it’s Geralt all the same.

This isn’t his Geralt, but Jaskier feels the same pull towards him, a pull that he’s helpless to resist. It seems that he’s drawn to Geralt no matter what universe he’s in, no matter what Geralt is, human or witcher, and well. Jaskier isn’t surprised. 

He’s loved Geralt so deeply for so long that it feels like Geralt is a part of his soul, as much as music is a part of him, and now that Geralt is so, so far away, so out of reach, Jaskier is grasping at any reminder he can find of him, trying to tell himself that Geralt is out there, that he’ll find Geralt. 

He _will_.

The memory of Geralt and Julian pressed against one another - it makes Jaskier more acutely aware of the absence by his side. Over the decades, he’s grown accustomed to Geralt’s presence, and without Geralt, it feels like something is missing. Like he’s empty. 

Twisting onto his side, Jaskier curls his arms around nothing, around an empty space in the bed beside him, and he falls asleep, the room too quiet and the bed too cold.

* * *

It’s the sun that wakes him up, the bright rays piercing through the window, and, on instinct, Jaskier rolls over, ready to greet Geralt with a sleepy grin, only to be met with a space on the other side of the bed that’s cold and empty, and like ice cold water has been dunked over him, Jaskier remembers - Stregobor, the monster, the portals, the thief. He remembers a Geralt with green eyes and red hair, and a version of himself with silver hair and golden eyes.

Right. He’s in not-Novigrad right now.

Easing himself up with a groan, Jaskier swipes a tired hand over his eyes. Another day without Geralt, without Ciri, without knowing where they are and how they’re doing. 

Great.

There’s a knock on his door, and Jaskier pads over, blinking blearily as he opens it. When he meets golden eyes, there’s a brief moment when he thinks that it’s _his_ Geralt here with him, but the sight of his own face quickly shakes him out of his sleepy haze. 

Geralt isn’t here. He’s gone off to who-knows-where with Ciri, and Julian is the one standing before him. 

“We’re leaving in an hour,” Julian informs him, expression stiff and uncomfortable, and Jaskier feels the same way. Without Geralt as a buffer between them, talking to another version of himself is… strange, and rather unsettling. 

“Alright,” Jaskier responds, trying not to sound as awkward as he feels, but, well. Julian is _him_ , and so he probably knows exactly what Jaskier is feeling right now. “I’ll see you and Geralt in an hour then.”

Julian nods jerkily. “Yeah.” He stares at Jaskier for a moment, golden eyes unreadable, and Jaskier resists the urge to fidget under that gaze. The colour of Julian’s eyes reminds him too much of Geralt, and the way Julian looks at him is so similar to the face he sees in the mirror, and yet so different all at once, and it’s _so strange_. 

Then Julian thrusts a bundle of clothing at him, and Jaskier takes it, startled at the abrupt action. 

“These are for you.” Julian looks pointedly at Jaskier’s outfit, which he hadn’t been able to change yesterday. “They’re Geralt’s, but they should fit you.”

The clothes are a dark blue, the material is well-made and smooth in his hands, and Jaskier stares at it for a moment. 

“Fine clothes that actually have colour, huh.” Jaskier doesn’t realise that he’d spoken out loud until Julian raises his eyebrows, and Jaskier flushes slightly. He hadn’t meant for that to come out. “I mean…”

He coughs awkwardly, and Julian cuts in, eyes growing melancholy. “You never thought you’d ever see Geralt wear such things.”

Jaskier is abruptly reminded that he and Julian had been the same person once, until destiny had decided to interfere cruelly in Julian’s life, throwing him into a world where he became a witcher instead of a bard. “I. Yeah.” 

“I once thought that Geralt wouldn’t be caught dead in clothes like that,” Julian murmurs, his hand lingers on the bundle of clothing for a moment before he withdraws it, something wistful in his gaze. The movement draws Jaskier’s gaze to Julian’s black armour, the lack of colour startling him. He’s so used to seeing himself clad in bright, vibrant colours that Julian’s attire throws him off. “And well. I was wrong, it seems.”

“I’m used to seeing him in all-black armour,” Jaskier muses, trying not to stare at Julian’s armour. It reminds him far too much of his own Geralt, who’s somewhere far, far away. “I’ve been pestering him for years, and I’ve only managed to make him wear a very dark grey.”

Julian’s mouth twitches. “Even so, Geralt still refuses to wear bright colours. That hasn’t changed.”

“A shame,” Jaskier chuckles, trying to imagine Geralt in a vibrant shade of blue. He fails - but despite not being able to picture his own Geralt in such bright attire, he can see this world’s Geralt wearing it, the bright blue clashing with the fiery red of his hair but complementing his piercing green eyes. “He’d look good.”

Julian is silent for a moment before he speaks, low and wistful. “Perhaps one day.”

The downward tilt of his mouth speaks of loss, speaks of love lost and found. Jaskier’s heart aches for his witcher counterpart, whose life had been turned upside down, who’d mourned Geralt and found him again. Julian had once been the same person as Jaskier, but time and circumstance and the cruelty of destiny had changed that, twisting him into someone almost unrecognisable but somehow still familiar.

This Jaskier is a witcher; this Geralt is a bard. They’re both different people to Jaskier himself and his own Geralt, but deep down, they’re fundamentally the same.

Julian and Geralt had been torn apart by destiny, but they’d found each other again - and Jaskier can only hope that he will find his Geralt again, and hopefully soon. He doesn’t want to think about what might happen otherwise. 

A life without Geralt. How had Julian managed it, remembering Geralt and thinking that he would be forever out of reach?

Jaskier is shaken from his thoughts as Julian clears his throat, the previously wistful atmosphere returning to stiff awkwardness.

“Right.” Julian takes a step away from the door, inclining his head. “Be ready in an hour.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier mumbles, and then Julian’s eyes dart over his shoulders, settling on the space where Jaskier had left his lute. A flash of pain and longing crosses his gaze, gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Jaskier almost offers to let Julian play, to let Julian regain his song and his voice and his music, but Julian’s face closes off and he gives Jaskier a curt nod before striding down the hall, leaving Jaskier staring after him.

For a moment, Jaskier’s eyes linger on the swords on Julian’s back, taking the place of the lute which he must once have carried with him every day, and Jaskier can’t imagine it, can’t imagine a life without his lute, without his music. The weight of his lute suddenly seems to weigh down on his shoulders, and he’s eternally grateful for its grounding presence, a reminder of one thing he has left from his own world. A reminder that Geralt is out there, waiting for his music. Waiting for him.

With his face turned away from Jaskier, Julian’s silhouette looks too much like Geralt, his short silver hair bright even in the dimly lit hallway, and Jaskier has to turn away, shutting the door and leaning his head against the frame as waves of grief and longing crash into him.

 _Please,_ he pleads to every deity in every universe out there. _Please let me find Geralt soon._

* * *

When Jaskier heads downstairs, clad in Geralt’s surprisingly well-fitting clothes and his pack slung over his shoulder, the innkeeper tells him that Geralt and Julian are in the stables, getting ready to leave, and he exits the inn, turning towards the stable. There are hushed voices within the stable, and despite himself, Jaskier makes his footsteps quiet, pausing outside the door. 

Geralt and Julian stand in the middle of the stables, foreheads resting against one another and their bodies pressed close together, and Jaskier watches as Geralt cups Julian’s cheek, murmuring something too low for him to hear, Julian’s eyes softening at the words. 

Watching them, their closeness and their easy intimacy, makes Jaskier yearn for his own Geralt, yearn for their casual touches. He hasn’t been apart from Geralt for long, but hopping across universes is making him miss Geralt even more, the distance between them greater than it’s ever been before, and it’s horrible. 

With Julian and Geralt clearly being… involved, a small flicker of hope burns in Jaskier’s chest - maybe, just maybe, Geralt would return his affections. After all, this Geralt used to be a witcher, like Jaskier’s own Geralt, and if Geralt is with Julian… maybe Jaskier can hope.

Suddenly, Julian’s head snaps up towards Jaskier. Right. Witcher senses, and all that. Mildly embarrassed at having been caught staring, Jaskier steps into the stables, smiling sheepishly as Julian and Geralt take a step back from one another. 

“Right, so… shall we?” Jaskier asks, trying to ignore how obvious he had been in his snooping.

Julian nods jerkily, heading towards a sleek black mare. Geralt pauses for a moment, gaze flickering up and down Jaskier’s body, no doubt taking in the way his own clothes fit Jaskier, and Jaskier’s shoulders curl inwards slightly. Geralt blinks and looks away, the tips of his ears a faint pink as he walks over to a brown horse, and Jaskier stares for a moment.

Is Geralt blushing?

“Let’s go,” Julian says, leading his horse out of the stables, Geralt and Jaskier following after him, and Jaskier idly wonders whether Geralt’s horse is named Roach. “Wait, you don’t have a horse. Do you…”

“I can walk,” Jaskier tries to say, but Julian walks over to him, handing over the reins of his horse.

“You must be exhausted from your… travels.” With a brisk nod, Julian lets go of the reins, leaving Jaskier blinking. “I’ll walk. You two are human, after all. I can keep up with the horses.”

“Julek, we can share -” Geralt tries, but Julian shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” Julian reassures, giving Geralt a soft smile. “I can walk for a bit. We wouldn’t want to burden poor Roach too much, after all.”

So the horse _is_ called Roach, Jaskier muses as he pulls himself onto the black mare. She nickers a little, but lets him clamber on without much resistance.

“Good girl,” he coos, stroking her mane. Tilting his head towards Julian, Jaskier asks, “What’s her name?”

“Farkas,” Julian murmurs, and Farkas tosses her head at the sound of her name.

 _Farkas_. A word from a language unique to a small village on the coast, a village submerged in nature, made beautiful by its seclusion. Jaskier had spent a month there when he was barely an adult, learning bits of their language and customs. He’d fallen in love with the place and had vowed to return in the future - it was beautiful, the ocean sparkling a clear blue under the sun, the golden sand soft under his feet, the meadows blooming bright and colourful with flowers and blossoms of all kinds.

Jaskier has travelled the Continent, and yet, that village remains the most beautiful, most magical place he’s ever been, and the romantic poet in his heart has always burned with the desire to bring his love there and bind them together with vows and promises. He’d always wanted to return, but his travels with Geralt and his affairs at Oxenfurt had never allowed him the time, and Jaskier wonders if Julian remembers that place as well.

He wonders why Julian had chosen to name his horse Farkas. Perhaps it was nostalgia for that village, or perhaps Julian had managed to do what Jaskier hadn’t.

Maybe he’d taken Geralt there. Maybe Julian had brought his love to the coast and promised them forever.

Farkas, Jaskier thinks, the memory of this lovely language ringing in his ears. 

_Wolf_.

Julian leads the way out of Novigrad, bringing them through the busy streets until they’re back out on the open road. Jaskier rides atop Julian’s horse, trotting next to Geralt and Roach as Julian keeps pace behind them, and silence stretches over them, the only sound being the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the chirping of birds. 

It’s some time before Geralt, surprisingly, breaks the silence. “Do you… do you know how to go to a specific universe?”

There’s hope in his voice, and Jaskier wonders if he wants to return to the universe he and Julian had come from, instead of this universe where their roles have been reversed.

“I don’t know,” Jaskier says quietly, hating the way Geralt’s face falls, hating that he had been the one to do it. “I wish I knew, but I don't know any more than you do. I’m just trying to find Geralt and Ciri, and fix this.”

“I understand,” Geralt murmurs, shoulders slumping. “I just thought…”

“Maybe I’ll manage to find out.” Trying to lighten the mood, Jaskier reaches into his pack, pulling out the book that he’d obtained with the thief. “I haven’t had the time to read through this, but maybe - maybe it’ll help.”

“That’s very strong magic.” Julian’s voice comes from behind him, and Jaskier turns around to see him with a hand hovering over his medallion, eyes fixed warily on the book. “It’s very volatile, I don’t think you should open it without a mage around to moderate the chaos that’s practically pouring off it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier mumbles. He hadn’t thought about that, and if even he can feel the sheer amount of magic coming from the book, it must be far stronger for Julian, who’s trained to detect such magics. He stuffs the book back in his pack, not missing the way Geralt’s eyes follow it. “I don’t suppose you have a handy mage around?”

“Not really,” Julian answers. “We met Yennefer from where we came from, but we haven’t encountered her yet here.”

It’s so strange to think that Julian used to be _him_ , that they had the same experiences, from growing up in Lettenhove to meeting Geralt in Posada, from Cintra to Rinde to the Dragon Mountains. They’d basically been the same person until Julian and Geralt had messed with some kind of cross-universal magic which sent them here.

“Surely there must be a way to control the way you travel across universes.” Geralt twists to face Jaskier on his horse, green eyes wide. “Is there a way to seek out specific universes?”

“That part is Ciri’s specialty, not mine.” He’d never understood exactly how Ciri’s magic works, and even now, the concept of travelling across universes still astounds him. “But now, I’m just - there’s no direction for me, I think. I’m just being transported to random universes.”

Geralt’s face falls. “Right.”

“You want to go back to your original world?” Jaskier asks, unable to ignore the way that Julian’s steady footsteps stutter behind him. 

“I…” Geralt swallows, looking away, and Jaskier can practically feel the tension in the air. He doesn’t dare turn back to look at Julian. “Not really, I’m just. I want to know.”

“I guess our old world is better than this one,” Julian interjects, his voice even, but Jaskier knows his own voice, and he can hear the bitterness and resignation underneath it. Judging by Geralt’s stricken expression, he hears it too. “If we can go back, it’s probably better.”

“No, Jaskier, that’s not - that’s not what I mean.” Geralt pulls Roach to a halt and jumps down, walking over to Julian, whose face is inscrutable. Jaskier looks away, trying to give them a semblance of privacy, knowing that this isn’t a moment with any space for him. “Don’t you want to know more about what happened?”

“I know what you mean,” Julian replies, something vulnerable creeping into his tone. There’s some rustling of clothing, and Jaskier can imagine the way Julian and Geralt must be wrapped around each other now, and his heart hurts for them, hurts with longing for his Geralt. “It’s fine, Geralt. Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t mean that we have to go back,” Geralt murmurs, and Julian hums. “But this - we now have a chance to know what happened to us. This is the closest we’ve ever gotten.”

A soft sigh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know.” They’re quiet, and Jaskier sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye to see Julian and Geralt kissing, arms wrapped around each other.

Something in his chest squeezes, and he looks away, knowing that he shouldn’t be watching such an intimate scene, a scene that he could only ever fantasise about happening with his own Geralt. 

Even so, the image of Geralt and Julian twined around each other is seared into Jaskier’s mind. If Julian and Geralt had started out the same way Jaskier and his Geralt had, maybe Geralt could harbour feelings for him. Maybe… maybe Jaskier’s hope isn’t so futile after all.

But hoping - hoping is useless when Geralt is universes away from him, and Jaskier forces himself back into reality, reminding himself of the situation at hand. The sound of soft murmuring ceases and Geralt climbs back onto Roach, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, and Jaskier silently urges his horse on, focusing on the distant horizon instead of the ache in his heart.

“So,” Jaskier starts awkwardly after a few long moments of silence. “You and, uh, Julian?”

Gods, what a mortifying question. Jaskier wants to bury his head in his hands and hide in embarrassment, but it’s too late - it’s out there, and Jaskier is under no illusions that Julian can’t hear him. Witchers have enhanced hearing, after all.

“Hmm,” Geralt responds, and _that’s_ familiar, at least, and it’s a hum that Jaskier recognises to be ‘you’re right but I’m embarrassed and I don’t want to say anything too incriminating’.

“...Right,” Jaskier mumbles, staring resolutely into the distance and pretending he’s not burning with a mixture of curiosity and hope. “Yeah. Yeah, cool.”

“Are you and me - I mean,” Geralt sputters, scrunching his freckled nose. “You and your Geralt. You’re not. Uh. Together?”

With every word that’s stuttered out, Geralt’s cheeks flush a shade redder, and the sight of Geralt _blushing_ is almost enough to make Jaskier fall off his horse. Geralt is _blushing_ \- and Jaskier shouldn’t be thinking this, given that he has his own Geralt, and this Geralt is Julian’s - but he’s _adorable_. 

“No.” Jaskier shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant, like he’s not staring in fascination at the colour that stains Geralt’s cheeks. “He doesn’t feel that way.”

The words pierce into his heart, and how is he so weak? He’s had decades to get used to the fact that his love for Geralt isn’t requited, decades to come to terms with his own feelings, and even so, the thought of Geralt not feeling the same way - it hurts. It always does.

“That’s not true,” Geralt says fiercely, and Jaskier turns to blink at him, startled. “I do - he does - I can tell you that he feels the same way.”

“I don’t think he does.” Jaskier fights not to let his shoulders curl inwards. “He’s never…”

“He’s - he’s afraid,” Geralt whispers, ducking his head. “I… it wasn’t easy, being a witcher and having a travelling companion. I thought - I know he doesn’t want to risk our - your friendship. He…”

Geralt twists around in his saddle, green eyes going round and soft as he looks at Julian, a gentle smile curving his lips. “He feels the same way. I - your Geralt and I had mostly the same experiences, going by what you’ve told me. If he’s anything like me…”

Jaskier barks out a brittle laugh. “I… that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” he asks wistfully. 

“Ask him,” Geralt says firmly. “Tell him. I promise that I - that _he_ won’t reject you.”

“Perhaps,” Jaskier responds, and they fall into silence. Jaskier tries to focus on the rhythmic clopping of hooves, on Julian’s footsteps behind him, on the soft trill of birdsong, but his mind drifts.

 _He won’t reject you_.

And by the gods, Jaskier _wants_ that. He’s loved Geralt for so long, and to have Geralt return his feelings…

It would be a dream. 

Behind Jaskier, Julian’s footsteps speed up slightly until he’s walking beside Geralt and Roach.

“He’s right,” Julian says, and Jaskier turns to stare at him. “I know what you’re feeling, and I know it’s terrifying to ask him, or tell him, but… it’s worth it. It’s more than worth it.”

A tender smile lights up Julian’s face as he looks at Geralt, reaching out to twine their hands together. Geralt returns the smile, pulling at Roach’s reins to slow her down, and Julian lifts Geralt’s hand, brushing his lips against the fourth finger as Geralt watches him fondly, his expression tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Jaskier had, more than once, dreamed of bringing someone he loved to that beautiful coastal village, of promising his life to them with the glittering ocean as his witness, but he’d never dared to hope.

Julian must have had that same dream, and Jaskier wonders whether, in another world, Julian had fulfilled that dream with Geralt by his side.

 _It’s more than worth it_ , Julian had just said, golden eyes loving and affectionate as he’d looked at Geralt, bending to kiss his fourth finger. 

Maybe - maybe Jaskier will tell his own Geralt, if only to be able to openly look at him the way Julian is looking at Geralt now as he walks beside Roach, if only to have the chance of Geralt looking at him the way this Geralt gazes at Julian with bright eyes.

Perhaps Jaskier can let himself hope, and one day, he’ll bring Geralt to that village on the coast.

But first - first, he has to find Geralt.

They ride on, Geralt and Julian conversing every once in a while and Jaskier jumping in periodically. The awkwardness between him and Julian fades - for as reticent and wary Julian seemed earlier, he’s slowly opening up and letting his guard down, and Jaskier can see himself in Julian, in the way he talks and gestures and smiles, and even as a witcher, Julian still smiles the same way, slightly crooked with a flash of sharp teeth, and he gestures the same way when he talks, albeit slightly more subdued.

Julian had once been Jaskier, that much is clear.

And Geralt. He talks more than Jaskier is used to, bantering easily with Julian, words flowing from his mouth. He’s still quiet, for a bard - Jaskier has met many, many bards, and they’re all _extremely_ talkative - but he converses far more easily than the witcher that Jaskier remembers, and Jaskier is surprised at how much Geralt contributes to a conversation, his vocabulary extending beyond the occasional ‘hmm’s and grunts.

He makes for a delightful conversation partner, and he and Julian balance out - where Julian talks less, Geralt talks more, even as their dynamic remains more or less the same as Jaskier’s dynamic with his own Geralt, and it’s fascinating to see the way they’re so different, but still the same.

The sky is darkening into pinks and oranges when they arrive at the town with the contract. Julian nods at them before heading off to find the alderman, and Jaskier and Geralt head to the nearest inn, securing them two rooms for the night.

Geralt pauses outside the door of his room, looking at Jaskier hesitantly. “I - I think I might perform later, once Jas - Julian gets back,” he says, and Jaskier nods, fingers itching to reach for his lute.

“Yeah, that would be good. I might perform a bit too, if that’s okay.” Jaskier sends an awkward smile at Geralt, who shrugs.

“Sure,” Geralt agrees. “Do you - uh, do you have any idea how we might be able to help you? With the whole - universe thing?”

At the reminder of his situation, Jaskier slumps slightly. “I might need to look through the book, but…” Jaskier recalls the wary look in Julian’s eyes when he’d looked at the book, hand on his medallion. “I need a mage, at least, before I even attempt to open it. If I somehow manage to get myself killed before I return to my own universe, then it sort of defeats the point.”

Huffing a slight laugh, Geralt drags a hand over his face. “Nice to see you have at least some self-preservation instincts.”

It’s familiar banter, and Jaskier wrinkles his nose at Geralt, falling back into the easy flow of their dynamic. “I’ve preserved myself perfectly well, thanks.”

“Out of sheer, dumb luck,” Geralt remarks wryly, crossing his arms. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far, really.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’re much better,” Jaskier retorts, then snaps his mouth shut as he remembers that the Geralt in front of him isn’t the Geralt he remembers, and he flounders, hands flailing. “I mean…”

Geralt stares at him for a brief moment. “Well, I have to be more careful now.”

“Right. Human and - and all.” The bright green eyes and the red hair are a clear reminder of that, and, for the thousandth time that day, Jaskier longs for golden eyes and silver hair.

“Mm,” Geralt affirms, eyes darting towards the door of his room. “I think I’ll head in.”

“See you later,” Jaskier murmurs as Geralt slips into his room, leaving Jaskier alone in the hallway, his mind conjuring an image of the face of this human Geralt superimposed on Jaskier’s memory of his own Geralt, a mixture and overlap, and Jaskier knows that they’re two different people, knows that he shouldn’t compare.

But Jaskier can see so much of his own Geralt in this Geralt, and it _hurts_.

Shutting the door, Jaskier flops onto the bed, flinging his arms out and staring at the ceiling, exhausted despite having only travelled for a few hours.

He’s so _tired_. He misses Geralt, misses Ciri, and he wants to see them, wants them _back_. 

He wants to go home. He wants to be back on the Path with Geralt, walking alongside Roach as they banter back and forth, wants quiet conversations over a campfire, wants to hear the rare but treasured sound of Geralt’s low laughter whenever Jaskier would say something particularly amusing. He longs for creaky beds in rundown inns, the sound of Geralt’s slow, steady breathing as he sleeps beside Jaskier, their bodies pressed close together. 

But the room is empty save for his own shaky breathing, and though Geralt is next door, he isn’t Jaskier’s Geralt, and it leaves a painful ache in Jaskier’s heart.

He feels so empty, so hollow - he’s never felt so _alone_.

_Please let me find Geralt soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this was good? next chapter (which will be posted tomorrow) will feature a bard duet, geralt having a crisis because two jaskiers are too much for him to handle, and angst:)
> 
> (just so you know - that coastal village? julian and geralt got married there before the reverse thing happened and they lost each other. when julian thought geralt was dead, he named his horse farkas to remember geralt. he also took geralt's last name.)


	2. Chapter 2

A Jaskier from another universe. Gods, that’s…

Wonderful. Unbelievable. 

Nodding a goodbye at Jaskier, Geralt shuts the door to his room and sits down heavily on his bed, lute in his lap.

Holy fuck.

A few years ago, Geralt had regained his memories. He thought he’d never see Jaskier again, thought that Jaskier was gone, thought that he wouldn’t ever get to see the cornflower blue eyes that he’d loved so much. He’d been wrong - Jaskier was alive in this real universe as a witcher, but Geralt had realised that, even after finding Jaskier again, he would never see the bright cornflower blue seared into his memory.

And that had been fine. _Really_. He’d been happy to have Jaskier by his side, human or mutant, bard or witcher, and he’d tried to ignore the part of him that would startle the sight of slit-pupiled golden eyes instead of a human blue, the part of him that missed the bright blue of Jaskier’s eyes in another lifetime.

Geralt loves Jaskier, loves him as a witcher. He loves Jaskier’s scars and silver hair, and he loves Jaskier’s luminous golden eyes, but sometimes, he can’t help missing the bright blue that now exists only in his memory, the bright blue that had captivated him, that he’d fallen in love with. A blue that had reminded him of life, of happiness, of love, every time he’d looked into Jaskier’s eyes. 

Now it’s gone, and as much as Geralt loves Jaskier’s eyes now, he still misses that bright, beautiful blue.

Then another Jaskier shows up, claiming to be from another universe. That Jaskier is a human bard, the Jaskier from Geralt’s memories of his past life, and his appearance makes something in Geralt yearn, makes the memories of his past life brighter and clearer. Guilt churns in Geralt’s gut - he _has_ Jaskier. Jaskier is with him, Jaskier is alive, even if he’s a witcher - so why is he longing for the human version of Jaskier? Why does he miss Jaskier’s human eyes, his easy joy as a human?

Why does he yearn for something that’s right here with him?

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t miss the old Jaskier, and yet he _does_ , and Geralt feels weighed down with guilt for that, for not fully appreciating who Jaskier is now, for feeling so - so _drawn_ to this other Jaskier, who’s exactly like the one Geralt had known in another life. 

There’s a knock on the door, and he carefully sets his lute down on the bed before scrambling to open the door, meeting Jaskier’s golden eyes.

Julian - not Jaskier, Geralt reminds himself. It’s weird to call Jaskier _Julian_ , but for as long as the alternate Jaskier stays here, Geralt needs a way to differentiate between the two Jaskiers. 

A human. A witcher. 

“I got the contract,” Julian says, his gaze fixed somewhere just to the left of Geralt’s eyes. “I’ll head out in a bit.”

Geralt frowns. Julian sounds distant, his mouth a stiff line - something must be bothering him, and Geralt can’t help but think it has something to do with their conversation earlier, or with the other Jaskier’s presence. 

“Jaskier,” he murmurs, and Julian still doesn’t look him in the eyes. “Jaskier, look at me.”

When Julian doesn’t move, Geralt places a finger on his chin and turns his head so their eyes meet. Julian’s golden eyes are blank, a sure sign that he’s hiding something from Geralt, and Geralt hates the distance that Julian is putting between them, hates that Julian won’t just tell him what’s wrong.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Julian asks, a small smile tilting up the corners of his lips, but Geralt can see the stiffness in them, the tension in his jaw.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Geralt pleads. “You’re being distant. Is this about what we talked about earlier, with the universe jumping?”

“I’m fine,” Julian reassures, the same way he had a few hours ago. “Really. I know why you asked that.”

Geralt sighs, leaning in to press a quick kiss against Julian’s lips. “You know I don’t really want to go back, right?” he breathes out, watching as Julian’s eyes flutter shut. “It would just be nice to know what happened.”

“Yes, of course,” Julian agrees - too quickly, Geralt thinks, but before he can reassure Julian further, Julian captures his lips in another kiss, desperate and hungry, and Geralt reaches his hands out to grip at those broad shoulders, made strong from decades of witcher training, sinking into Julian’s embrace. 

There’s a frenzied desperation in Julian’s kiss, in his movements, like he’s afraid Geralt will disappear, like he’s afraid Geralt will leave, and Geralt can’t have him thinking that. Sinking his fingers into Julian’s hair, he pulls back to see a flash of fear and vulnerability flicker across Julian’s eyes. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Geralt whispers, running his hands through the soft silver strands. 

“We could find a mage,” Julian says hurriedly, hands twitching at his sides. “Look through the other Jaskier’s book. There could be something… or you could…”

He trails off, and Geralt untangles his fingers from Julian’s hair to lace their hands together. “I told you. I don’t want to go back.”

The words ring out true and honest, even as part of Geralt longs for bright, carefree blue eyes, yearns for lilting, joyous song, and he suddenly finds it hard to look Julian in the eyes, the slit-pupiled gold too much. 

Why is he feeling like this? Geralt wonders as he forces himself to meet Julian’s eyes once more, only to be met with an inscrutable wall, and it’s with a sinking sense of dread that Geralt realises that Julian must have caught on to what he’s thinking. 

Julian smiles tightly. “We can talk to Jaskier again. There might be something he’s missed out.”

“We don’t need to,” Geralt says as sincerely as he can, hoping that Julian can see it. “It’s - we’re good here. Really.”

Julian hums, and Geralt hates that he’s still hiding, hates that he still feels the need to hide, but before he can press further, there’s a knock on the door and Julian steps away from him, opening the door to reveal Jaskier, lute displayed proudly in his hands. He’s grinning widely, but sadness lurks behind his smile, and Geralt wonders just how much he must miss his world, miss his Geralt. 

He knows that were he in Jaskier’s place, he would miss Julian with every beat of his heart, with every part of his soul. 

Seeing Jaskier and Julian together never gets any less jarring. Jaskier looks like he’s been plucked straight from Geralt’s old memories, brown hair and sparkling blue eyes and bright smile, and though Geralt knows that Julian is _his_ Jaskier, this Jaskier makes him yearn for what he’s lost. 

It makes him yearn for what Julian’s lost. 

A carefree, easy life, free of the harsh burdens placed on a witcher. An upbringing without the agonising pain of the Trials, without discipline and violence beaten into him at such a young age. A life filled with music and song, with the sound of lute strings plucking out a sweet tune, with the beauty of singing. 

Julian has lost all of that, and it’s embodied in the human figure of Jaskier before him, lute in his hands. 

When Geralt flicks his gaze towards Julian, he’s regarding Jaskier with an unreadable expression. Standing next to each other, Jaskier and Julian couldn’t be more different - they have the same face, of course, but the Trials and the harsh years on the Path have changed Julian, hardened him and shaped him into a witcher, whilst Jaskier is soft and bright and human. 

It makes the lines between Geralt’s current life and his past life blur. It’s almost too much.

“You know what I thought we could do?” Jaskier asks, eyes bright with excitement, even as something melancholic lurks in their depths. 

Geralt hums, trying not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier fits in his clothes - he looks unfairly good in them. Geralt has always loved seeing Jaskier in his clothes, even if Jaskier - or, well, Julian - doesn’t quite fit in them now. But Jaskier, this other Jaskier, fits Geralt’s clothes perfectly well, the dark blue doublet complementing his light blue eyes, and Geralt swallows. 

One Jaskier is already too much for Geralt to handle. Two Jaskiers? Geralt thinks that his brain might explode. Or his face might overheat. 

Oblivious to Geralt’s inner turmoil, Jaskier shoots Geralt a grin, holding up his lute. “We could do a duet!” he enthuses, and Geralt blinks. A duet. 

A lifetime ago, Jaskier - _Julian_ had constantly pestered Geralt to sing with him, to join him in his songs. Geralt had always refused - witchers don’t sing. Witchers don’t play. Now… now, Geralt is the one who can sing, the one who holds music in the palms of his hands, and though he’s never asked Julian to sing with him, Jaskier is here, thrumming with excitement as he asks Geralt to play with him, to sing with him. 

And Geralt _wants_ to sing with him, to stand beside Jaskier on the stage and mix their voices together in glorious harmony. A _duet_. With Jaskier. 

Geralt had never dared to ask Julian to sing with him, fearing that he would remind Julian of everything he’s lost, but now that Jaskier is asking him...

“I never thought that, well, _my_ Geralt would ever play the lute,” Jaskier babbles, and Geralt suppresses a smile. It’s true - back when he’d been a witcher, he would never have touched a lute. But things are different now. “But _you_ \- you’re a bard, and I thought it would be fun for us to play together!”

Geralt finds himself leaning forward unconsciously, body practically vibrating in anticipation, and before he can answer, Julian cuts in. 

“That sounds like an interesting time,” Julian says, the vulnerability that he’d shown earlier slipping away, replaced by an easy expression, and something in his too-casual expression nags at the back of Geralt’s mind, but before Geralt can think too much of it, Julian quirks an eyebrow at him, giving him a teasing smile. “Jaskier’s right. You never sang or played with me back when I - back then. Now you get the chance to do that, and I’m sure you’ll both enjoy it. It’ll be fun.”

There’s something in his words that makes Geralt want to pause and frown, something _wrong_ lurking behind his tone, but before Geralt can put his finger on it, Jaskier cheers. 

“ _Yes!_ ” he exclaims, bounding over to Geralt. “Come on, grab your lute - those people won’t know what hit them. A bard duo! The renowned bards, Geralt and Jaskier, wowing the Continent… oh, we should think of a name. The crowd will _love_ us!”

Turning to grab his lute, Geralt blinks at the empty space where he’d put his lute. Then, a nudge on his shoulder, and Geralt turns to see Julian holding out his lute to him. 

“Go,” Julian murmurs, and Geralt takes his lute from Julian, pressing a grateful kiss to his scarred cheek. Julian’s lips tilt up, golden eyes soft. “Enjoy yourself, sweetheart.”

Frowning at the sudden sadness in Julian’s voice, Geralt starts, “Julek -”

Another smile, tinged with a hint of hopelessness. “Go on, Geralt. I’ll be down in a moment.”

And then Jaskier closes a hand around Geralt’s arm, dragging him to the down to the tavern, excitement evident in every bounding step. 

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ ,” Jaskier babbles as he tows Geralt behind him. “Playing and singing with _you_ \- I never thought I’d see the day! Never thought I would get this wonderful opportunity! I wonder what Geralt would think -” a melancholic expression passes over his face, but it disappears after a brief moment, and once again, Geralt’s heart squeezes at the thought of Jaskier being separated from his Geralt, at the possibility of Julian being torn away from him, and he longs to pull Jaskier into a hug and offer comfort, but he knows that he must remind Jaskier of how _his_ Geralt isn’t with him, so he refrains, following after Jaskier. 

“Well,” Jaskier continues softly, mouth twisting. “He would be really weirded out, I think. But!” Brightening, he tightens his grip on Geralt’s hand, exclaiming, “I get to sing with you! Gods, that’s _really_ exciting. A duet!”

With Jaskier’s excited rambling and infectious enthusiasm, Julian’s strange behaviour is pushed from Geralt’s mind. Getting to play with Jaskier is a prospect that makes Geralt’s heart sing - even before he’d regained his memories, some part of him still reached for Jaskier, and he’d picked up the lute, picked up music because of Jaskier. When his memories returned, Geralt had vowed to bring music to the Continent the way Jaskier had, and to finally, finally be able to share the music in his soul with Jaskier - it’s beyond exciting. It’s wonderful, and as Jaskier brings them to the front of the crowd, Geralt thrums with anticipation, bringing his lute out and settling his fingers over the strings in a position familiar from years and years of practise at Oxenfurt. 

Tilting his head at Geralt, blue eyes sparkling, Jaskier asks, “Ready?”

Geralt never thought that this would ever happen, that he would end up here, Jaskier by his side, a lute in each of their hands, and he grins, feeling like he’s soaring high. “Oh, yes.”

With a jaunty grin, Jaskier launches into a popular folk song that has the tavern patrons swaying to the beat, and after a few moments of getting a feel for the melody, Geralt joins in, blending his smooth bass with Jaskier’s sweet tenor, and the patrons cheer as their voices soar through the tavern in perfect harmony. 

Geralt finds himself grinning as he performs - he’s never felt so _alive_ during a performance, and watching as Jaskier dances around the tavern, winding around tables and engaging with his audience, Geralt is reminded of why he’d dedicated himself to music in the first place, of how much music means to Jaskier. Jaskier is a bright, vibrant presence, his joy and enthusiasm suffusing through the room, and Geralt lets himself bask in it.

It’s more fun than he’s ever had in a performance, and it’s _wonderful_.

At the end of the song, a dark figure emerges from the stairs, and Geralt waves at Julian, who nods at him and settles into a corner, golden eyes watching him and Jaskier intently. He’s clad in full armour, the tavern patrons edging away from him as they eye the swords on his back, clearly ready to head off for the contract. 

It’s familiar, Julian watching him as he performs, only this time, Jaskier is by his side, performing alongside him, and with the familiar weight of Julian’s golden eyes on him, Geralt lets himself be swept up in the high of the performance, in the beauty of the music mingling between him and Jaskier. 

A few songs in, his cheeks ache from how wide he’s grinning, panting slightly with how much he’s pouring into his songs. Jaskier turns around and flashes him a dazzling grin, which Geralt can’t help but return, buzzing with the glorious thrill of a performance well done, with the rhythmic melody pulsing through him, with Jaskier by his side. This was a _great_ idea. Geralt hasn’t felt so alive in a long time. 

As Jaskier takes over for one part of a soft, lyrical song, Geralt makes his way over to Julian, fingers plucking at his lute. As he approaches, he catches a glimpse of furrowed brows and a tight expression, which are quickly smoothed away when Julian locks eyes with him, giving him a small smile.

Geralt returns the smile, knowing that he’s beaming brightly and that his cheeks are flushed from exertion. Julian reaches out and runs a hand through his hair, eyes softening at the way Geralt’s unruly curls tangle around his fingers, and Geralt presses a gentle kiss to his lips before backing away, taking over his verse of the song.

Julian watches him as he performs, eyes occasionally flicking from him to Jaskier, and Geralt, as always, revels under his attention, but something is different. Usually, Julian’s eyes are alight with fondness as he watches Geralt sing and play, but this time, there’s something missing, something that Geralt can’t quite get a grasp on.

He dismisses it, too hyped up from his performance to consider what’s wrong. Julian might just be tired from their travels or psyching himself up for the contract, and besides, Geralt is having _fun_ with Jaskier like he’s never had before. A duet with Jaskier is something he’s never imagined, something he’s never let himself imagine, and it’s completely and utterly perfect. 

“I’m assuming you know _Toss a Coin_?” Jaskier asks after a few more songs, casting a glance at Julian’s dark and silent presence in the corner. “Since Julian is here, it might be fitting.”

“I haven’t really played it,” Geralt admits sheepishly. After all, the song is Julian’s, not his, and he’s never gotten the courage to ask Julian whether he could play it, knowing that the memories of his past sometimes pain Julian, reminding him of what he can never have again, of everything he’s lost. “But I do know how to.”

Long nights in his room at Oxenfurt spent plucking out the notes of _Toss a Coin_ , humming the familiar melody under his breath as he’d ached for Julian, who he’d thought lost to him forever. Ever since their reunion in Posada, Geralt hasn’t dared to play it again, not wanting to bring Julian pain, but sometimes, at night, he would lie awake, the lilting notes playing over and over in his head, the first song that Julian had ever written for him. 

That song had been annoying, once. Now, Geralt holds it close, close to his heart. 

“Well? Do you want to play it together, then?” Jaskier asks, bouncing in place, his fingers twitching on the strings of his lute. 

Jaskier is here, looking at him with eager eyes, and gods, Geralt has missed that song, and he’s always been weak for those bright blue eyes. 

“Yeah,” Geralt agrees, drawn in helplessly by those eyes that he’s missed so much, leaning in unconsciously towards Jaskier’s presence. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Jaskier claps his hands together, excitement making his eyes glow. “Oh, this is going to be _great_ ,” he says gleefully. “What, ah, is Julian’s witcher name?”

“Julian.” Geralt whispers the name, savouring the sound of it, thinking of the heartbreaking grief in Julian’s eyes when he’d first revealed his witcher name to Geralt. _I took your name._ “Of Rivia.”

Jaskier is silent for a moment, the hubbub of the tavern suddenly too loud. “Oh,” he murmurs. “He…”

Visibly shaking himself, Jaskier throws his shoulders back. “Well, that makes it easier,” he says breezily. “No need to change the lyrics too much.”

Then a large grin shines bright on his face as he curls his fingers around his lute, fingers flying over the strings as the familiar opening chords of _Toss a Coin_ ring out across the tavern.

“ _When a humble bard, graced a ride along…_ ” Jaskier sings, skilfully changing _Geralt of Rivia_ to _Julian of Rivia_ , and Geralt can barely breathe as he watched Jaskier sing the familiar words, the familiar melody, and it throws him back to another life, another world, when Geralt had been the one sitting in the corner, watching Jaskier perform. Nostalgia pierces through him, nostalgia for a time long past, and Geralt stares and stares at Jaskier, soaking him in. 

Jaskier dances around the tables, and Geralt follows him with his gaze, until Jaskier passes Julian’s table and Geralt’s eyes snag on Julian, whose eyes are fixed on the way Jaskier sings and weaves through the tavern. As the song progresses and Jaskier’s singing grows more animated, Julian’s face grows steadily blanker, his lips flattening into a thin line, and Geralt aches to reach out and soothe the tense line of his jaw, but then Jaskier returns to him, beaming bright with joy, and once again, Geralt’s gaze is drawn helplessly to him. 

The song builds and builds and Jaskier’s voice becomes brighter and brighter until he reaches the chorus, and when Geralt joins in, he manages to tear his eyes away from Jaskier to look at Julian. 

Julian’s face has completely shut off, utterly unreadable, and Geralt has to struggle not to let his voice falter as he wonders whether this was a mistake.

Fuck. There was a reason he’d never sung any of Julian’s old songs in front of him before - Geralt knows that Julian misses his old life, misses the freedom and joy of singing his heart out before an adoring audience, and Geralt does all that he can not to remind Julian of what he no longer has. But just now, Geralt had bent under the eagerness of Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes, unable to resist the lure of the way Jaskier takes such unending joy from his music, unable to resist the very possibility of hearing Jaskier sing _Toss a Coin_ once again.

As they approach the second verse, Jaskier nudges him, and Geralt turns to meet a dazzling grin and sparkling eyes. He blinks at the familiar, treasured sight, a sight that he holds so dear in his memory, and Geralt loses himself in Jaskier’s smile, in Jaskier’s endlessly blue eyes, in the mixture of past and present, longing and nostalgia hitting him in full force and keeping his eyes fixed on Jaskier for the rest of the performance until the last notes trail off and the patrons burst into raucous applause.

(Julian watches as Geralt stares into Jaskier’s (blue, human) eyes, a bright grin on his face as he sings and plays alongside Julian’s human counterpart. Geralt practically glows with excitement, beaming with joy in a way Julian has never seen, and with Jaskier next to him, both of them seeming to radiate something bright and joyous - Julian can’t take it anymore. 

He stands up abruptly, sticking to the shadows as he heads towards the door, his swords too heavy on his back, far heavier than the weight of a lute, reminding him that he’s a witcher, his scratchy throat reminding him that he will never sing again.

His music, the bright, beautiful part of his soul, is gone. 

He’s no longer human, no longer a bard, and Julian can’t even be surprised that Geralt would want the human bard back. The scar on his face itches and itches, the tavern too loud and the colours too bright. He’s not human. He’s not a bard. 

Of course Geralt would miss Julian’s old self, and having Jaskier here...

Bright blue, _human_ eyes dance in his mind, eyes that Julian no longer has. A reminder of who Julian no longer is. A reminder of who Geralt really wants. 

In his mind, bright blue mixes with vibrant green, and as Julian pushes out of the tavern, he banishes the image, forcing himself into the mindset of a witcher on a hunt, forbidding himself from thinking about the two bards inside, having the time of their lives, their intertwined music in the air mocking the missing, aching part of Julian’s soul.

A blank calm settles over him, and Julian heads into the woods, steps slow and sure. 

He has a contract to finish.)

Geralt twists to look at where Julian is sitting, hoping to see his grin, but when he’s met with an empty table, his heart stutters. The patrons chant _toss a coin, toss a coin to your witcher, a friend of humanity_ as they turn towards the witcher in the corner - well, just a corner, now that the witcher is gone, and Geralt’s breath catches in his throat, the joy of the performance abruptly disappearing. 

Julian is gone. 

“Where’s Julian?” Jaskier asks, voice low as the patrons clamour in confusion at Julian’s disappearance, disappointed that the witcher has left. 

“I…” Geralt swallows, worry and guilt rising within him. Gods, the look in Julian’s golden eyes when _Toss a Coin_ had started - Geralt should have refused Jaskier, should have stopped singing _Toss a Coin_ when Julian’s face had started shutting off, but he’d lost himself in the tide of the song, in the swell of Jaskier’s bright enthusiasm, and now - now, Julian is gone. 

Geralt clears his throat, mouth dry. (It’s not because of the singing. He wishes it were because of the singing.) “I haven’t… he hasn’t… we haven’t played. Or heard. This song in - in years.”

Jaskier’s face falls, and Geralt remembers that he and Julian had once been the same person, with the same memories and experiences and feelings. Even if Julian has been through something Jaskier could never imagine, Geralt has no doubt that Jaskier understands exactly what Julian is thinking. 

“I - _oh_.” Jaskier looks down for a brief moment. 

“Yeah,” Geralt agrees quietly, staring forlornly at the abandoned tankard on the empty table. His lute is too heavy in his hands, his voice stuck in his throat. “It’s not - it’s not easy for him, I don’t -

“I can’t imagine losing my music,” Jaskier murmurs, placing a hand on Geralt’s back and guiding him away from the attention of the patrons. His voice is pained, and his knuckles are white around his lute, clutching it like he doesn’t want to let go. “It’s a part of me, and I can’t…”

Geralt bows his head, understanding. Julian had been a part of him ever since they met in Posada the first time, a permanent fixture in his heart, and when Geralt had first regained his memories, the loss of Julian had torn something apart within him. This must be what Jaskier, what Julian, feels about music - a part of him that’s indispensable, inseparable from his very being, and Julian has lost his music, his song, for decades, centuries. 

How much must Julian have hurt, seeing Jaskier right before him, a visceral reminder of what he’s lost? How much must he have hurt, watching Jaskier and Geralt sing together while he sat silently in the corner?

Squeezing his eyes shut against the building wetness, Geralt rasps, “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know.” Jaskier sounds sorrowful, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t think… I should’ve known. He’s me, after all.”

“He’ll come back,” Geralt whispers. Julian will come back. He always does.

He rarely leaves Geralt behind on a contract these days. But just now, Julian had left without a word, and Geralt knows that even if he were to check in their room, it would be empty, and he lets out a shaky exhale, a yearning ache in his chest.

“He will.” Jaskier rubs soothing circles in Geralt’s back, and Geralt relaxes guiltily into the familiar touch - it’s Jaskier, even if it isn’t _his_ Jaskier, and Jaskier has always known how to calm him down. “He loves you. He’ll come back for you.”

Geralt chuckles, hating how wet the sound is. “You’d know, huh?”

“I would,” Jaskier agrees. “He’s not so different from me, is he? I love my Geralt, and Julian loves you.”

“Your Geralt loves you back too, you know.” They’d talked about this earlier, but Jaskier had looked unconvinced by Geralt’s words, and Geralt stares Jaskier in the eyes, willing him to understand. “You… Jaskier was the only one who’d ever chosen _me_. I know that our pasts were mostly the same, and I can assure you that your Geralt definitely returns your love.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Jaskier’s hand drops from Geralt’s back, and his jaw tenses. “I - I don’t - what if -”

“Find him,” Geralt says, and reaches for Jaskier’s hand. Their fingers tangle together, and Geralt continues, “Find him and tell him, and hold him close. Because you… you don’t know when you’ll be torn apart.”

Geralt thinks back to the moment he’d regained his memories at Oxenfurt, the overwhelming despair and agonising grief that had flooded him when he thought that Jaskier wasn’t there, that Jaskier was gone, and Geralt would do _anything_ to not feel that devastating sense of loss ever again. 

The thought of never seeing Jaskier again had been horrifying, draining the colour and joy from the world, and looking at this other Jaskier before him, who’d been separated from his own Geralt, who likely won’t find his Geralt for some time yet…

Geralt can’t bear the thought of any version of himself out there separated from Jaskier, and he can’t bear the thought of any version of Jaskier separated from him. Being apart - it had torn Julian up for decades, left him aching and grieving and lonely, and Geralt remembers the tentative hope in Julian’s eyes when they’d reunited, the disbelief and the reluctance to get hurt once again, and Geralt knows that he can’t let this Jaskier be separated from his Geralt for long.

It only seems right that they’re together in any universe. 

Jaskier is silent, looking at him pensively and Geralt forges on. “Don’t let him _go_ ,” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat, fighting back the onslaught of tears at the painful, lonely memories. “Cherish him. Hold him close. Promise me.”

Jaskier opens his mouth. “I pro -”

He cuts himself off with a cry as his body seizes, sparks running over him, and Geralt is by his side in a second, an instinctive reaction at seeing Jaskier in pain.

“Shit,” Geralt says frantically, hands fluttering over Jaskier’s body, which seems to be flashing in and out of existence, disappearing and reappearing. “What - what’s happening, Jaskier, oh gods, what do I -”

“I’m - I -” Jaskier tries to say, but his voice fades in and out, and Geralt can do nothing as Jaskier’s body convulses again, his features blurring.

“Jaskier!” Geralt exclaims, horrified, trying to clutch at Jaskier’s arm, at his hand, at his chest, but every time he does, his hand passes through nothing. “Fuck, how can I help? Are you -”

“My - my pack,” Jaskier manages to grit out, his voice fading at the end as his body sparks and flickers. Quickly scanning the room, Geralt grabs Jaskier’s pack and his lute and pushes it into his hands.

Frantic, heart in his throat, Geralt flails around. “Do you - are you -”

Then Jaskier flickers out of existence, leaving nothing but a soft whisper of _thank you_ that lingers in Geralt’s ears for a moment before fading away. Too stunned to move, to talk, Geralt stares at the spot where Jaskier had disappeared, the memory of cornflower blue eyes fresh in his mind.

This must be the way Jaskier jumps universes, Geralt thinks numbly. And now he’s gone.

Geralt has his own Jaskier. But seeing Jaskier as a human, as a bard, music still singing within him, wearing his joy on his sleeve…

Geralt loves the way Jaskier is now. He loves Jaskier as a witcher, as a human, but with this other Jaskier who’d jumped in from another universe, Geralt is hit by decades of memories blooming fresh in his mind, memories of a cheerful bard who’d joined him on the Path, who’d stuck by his side through the decades, who’d dedicated his mortal life to Geralt, and he’s struck by longing for his past life, for the future that he and Jaskier never got to have.

Even so, Geralt can’t help but look to the past and wonder what could have been. He can’t help but dwell on the memories of the Jaskier he’d first met and fallen in love with - Jaskier’s easy smile and his melodious songs and his bright presence.

But as Geralt stares at the spot where the other Jaskier disappeared, he realises that the Jaskier he misses is nothing more than a memory, and Geralt’s longing for the past is nothing more than nostalgia for what could have been. He has a Jaskier _here_ with him, both of them in this universe together, and that’s everything that Geralt can ask for. 

It’s not a question of Geralt missing Jaskier’s human self - he does, but he knows that Jaskier is a different person now, and Geralt loves him because of it, because of who he is now. In another lifetime, Jaskier might have been a different person, but that’s all in the past, and Jaskier is with him right here, right now, and Geralt will hold him tight and never let go.

He hates that he might have made Jaskier doubt himself when the alternate Jaskier had appeared in their universe, and Geralt vows to make it up to him, to show him that he loves him the way he is, to tell him that this world is _theirs_ , that Geralt has no desire to cling to his memories, no desire to return to the past. The memory of the other Jaskier, of the Jaskier from Geralt’s past, is still bittersweet, tinged with nostalgia, but the longing for it has faded. 

There’s nothing to long for, nothing to miss, because he has Jaskier by his side. 

There’s nothing to suggest that the alternate Jaskier had ever been here at all, but that’s fine. The alternate Jaskier had given Geralt something to think about, had solidified and strengthened his love for his own Jaskier, and Geralt exhales softly when he realises that the memory of cornflower blue eyes doesn’t hurt anymore. Jaskier’s face, bright and joyful and human, still sends a pang of nostalgia through him, but the longing is gone, because Geralt knows that Jaskier isn’t in the past, isn’t in another universe.

Jaskier is _here with him_.

They might have lost their chance at a future in their previous world, in their previous lives. Now - now, they can forge their own new, bright future. Together.

* * *

The sky grows dark, the moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by countless twinkling stars. Jaskier, _his_ Jaskier, his brave, beautiful, wonderful witcher, doesn’t come back.

It’s been a few hours since Jaskier had left to take the contract. He should’ve returned by now - this shouldn’t be too challenging a contract, and yet, he still doesn’t return.

Jaskier will come back, Geralt knows. He always does, and after the world had torn them apart, neither of them are willing to let the other go, but fear still makes an unwelcome space in Geralt’s gut.

What if Jaskier doesn’t come back? 

It’s past midnight when Geralt catches near-silent footsteps making their way down the hall to stop outside the door, before the door slowly creaks open. Geralt shoots up in bed as Jaskier enters the room, still clad in armour, golden eyes shining in the silver moonlight. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasps in relief, scrambling out of bed. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Jaskier’s voice is strange and too distant, and Geralt takes a step closer, worried.

“Are you hurt?” He quickly scans over Jaskier’s body. His armour is bloodied, but there aren’t any visible tears or rips, so Geralt assumes that Jaskier isn’t injured. His posture is fine, slightly more hunched than normal, but nothing to indicate that he’s in pain. 

“I’m fine.” A short, curt response as Jaskier heads to the side of the room, broad shoulders tense as he takes off his gloves.

Itching to smooth his hands over those tense shoulders, to make Jaskier relax into his touch, Geralt heads over to him and places a hand on Jaskier’s arm, stopping him from unsheathing his swords.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Geralt asks, searching those inscrutable eyes that give nothing away. “You can tell me.”

Jaskier doesn’t answer, tilting his head as his nostrils flare. “Is… Jaskier gone?”

“He is,” Geralt confirms, heart hurting slightly at the memory of the other Jaskier flickering in and out of existence, body convulsing, the sight of cornflower blue eyes seared fresh into his mind, but as Geralt gazes at bright gold, the memory of cornflower blue is chased from his mind. 

The other Jaskier is gone. But his Jaskier isn’t. 

“Do you miss him?” Jaskier’s words come out too quickly, and he turns away from Geralt, jaw clenched tight. “Nevermind.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks slowly, trying to figure out Jaskier’s state of mind. “Why would I miss him?”

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier mutters, shrugging Geralt’s hand off his arm. “You should sleep, darling. It’s late.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Jaskier is acting strangely, and Geralt will be damned if he lets Jaskier repress his feelings, push his thoughts so deep down that Geralt can’t help him, the way Geralt had once done. Jaskier isn’t injured, and there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him, but...

 _Do you miss him?_ Jaskier had asked, something dangerously vulnerable in his voice.

 _Oh_ , Geralt realises as he takes in Jaskier’s too-tight jaw, his rigid shoulders, his unreadable eyes, the usual inhuman grace of his movements gone as he reaches up jerkily to unsheathe his swords. He isn’t looking at Geralt, the moonlight illuminating the jagged scar that runs across his face, and Geralt takes a step closer.

“Julek,” Geralt murmurs, desperate to comfort Jaskier, to wrap him in his arms, but Geralt knows that at this moment, his touch will be unwelcome.

Jaskier gives him a tight-lipped smile, forced and stiff, a smile that Geralt loathes. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Geralt has seen that smile before - back in another world, whenever Jaskier had caught him and Yennefer together, when Geralt had pulled away from Jaskier due to his own insecurities; in this world, when Geralt had caught sight of Jaskier’s wholly black eyes after a hunt for the first time, when a town had spat and hurled cruel words at Jaskier for being a witcher, and Jaskier had smiled at Geralt and said that he was fine.

Geralt _despises_ that smile, and he vows to make it better, to make Jaskier smile like he means it, not this horrible facsimile of one.

“Oh, Jaskier,” Geralt breathes out, taking Jaskier’s face in his hands, tracing a thumb over Jaskier’s scar. “You know I love you, right? I love you so much.”

Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, the stiff smile still painted on his lips. “I know. I love you too.”

His tone is clipped, and Geralt hates himself for making Jaskier feel this way. “I love you like this. I love you the way you are. Please don’t doubt that.”

Cracking his eyes open, Jaskier smiles wider, and Geralt hates it, hates how there’s too much teeth in that smile, hates how forced it looks, how it twists Jaskier’s beautiful face. “I would never doubt you, Geralt.”

It’s a blatant lie. Jaskier is a phenomenal liar, but Geralt knows him far, far too well. “Don’t do this,” Geralt implores, bringing Jaskier closer, pain twisting in his chest. “Jaskier, please. I love you so much. I promised, remember? We promised.”

A promise on the coast. Vows exchanged, love sealed and bound. 

Jaskier turns his head to press a quick kiss against Geralt’s palm before stepping back from his touch, shoulders drawing back. “We did. We can talk in the morning, darling. It’s really late, you should sleep.”

He’s trying to change the topic, and Geralt won’t let him do that. Geralt loves Jaskier more than anything, and he refuses to ever let Jaskier doubt his own worth in Geralt’s eyes.

Lunging forward, Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier’s middle, still clad in armour, and blood is undoubtedly smearing across Geralt’s doublet, but he can’t find it within himself to care. Their faces are so close that Geralt can feel Jaskier’s shallow breaths against his face, can see the way Jaskier’s golden eyes shutter. 

Geralt won’t let Jaskier shut him out. 

“I love your hair,” Geralt begins, drawing his fingers through the longer strands at the top of Jaskier’s head. “It. It reminds me of the - the moon. The stars. Silver and beautiful.”

Jaskier doesn’t respond, but his breathing hitches slightly when Geralt brushes his hand through his hair, and Geralt continues.

“I love the way you fight.” Geralt skims his hands over broad shoulders, down thick arms, then resting them on Jaskier’s armoured chest. “Like you were born for it. I love the way you - you protect me. It’s breathtaking.”

Jaskier’s glowing eyes flicker down to Geralt’s hands, his too-slow heart quickening under them, and Geralt smiles at him softly.

“I love your face,” he whispers, bringing both hands to frame Jaskier’s face, one hand tracing over the scar, the other brushing against his cheeks. “I know you think your scar is ugly, but it isn’t. It shows me that… you waited for me. You survived for me, and we’re - we’re here.”

Leaning forward, Geralt presses a soft kiss to the scar, and Jaskier lets out a heavy, ragged breath, leaning forward into Geralt’s touch.

“I love your eyes.” Geralt drowns in Jaskier’s golden gaze, and when Jaskier stiffens under his hands, his face starting to turn away, Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. “They’re so - they’re so bright, and no one looks at me like you do.”

“I know you miss me as a human,” Jaskier mutters, jaw clenching. “The other Jaskier, he - I saw the way you looked at him. He’s _human_. Not - not this.”

He gestures at his body, clad in bloody armour, at his scarred face and slit-pupiled eyes, and Geralt can’t bear the way Jaskier doubts himself, hates the way Jaskier seems to curl in on himself, self-hatred burning in his eyes. 

“I love you the way you are,” Geralt says fiercely, and when Jaskier averts his gaze, Geralt whispers, “I mean it. Jaskier… please. Look at me?”

“We should’ve taken a look at that book,” Jaskier says, still looking away. “It probably would’ve contained information on how we might be able to get back, or where we could start looking. The chaos around it was strong, but I’m sure we would’ve been able to handle it. We could’ve - we could’ve had a chance, we could’ve gone back, we -”

“ _No_ ,” Geralt breathes, unable to bear the pain in Jaskier’s voice, the tension in his body. “That’s not - we’re here, Jaskier. I’m happy here. With you.”

“I’m sure we would’ve found a way to go back to our world, just before everything happened,” Jaskier continues nonchalantly, breaking out of Geralt’s hold and sending him an easy smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “We would be able to pick up right where we left off. Go back to how we used to be.”

“But do you want to?” Geralt demands, searching Jaskier’s eyes, trying to look past the mask that Jaskier has thrown up. 

“Of course,” Jaskier says, the smile still plastered on his face, the tension leaking from his posture. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It’s all a mask, and Geralt hates it - he can see past it all, can see that Jaskier is putting up a front, pushing down his feelings, his insecurities, and Geralt won’t have that. In their past life, Jaskier had pulled Geralt out of his shell, forcing him to confront his feelings, and Geralt won’t let Jaskier repress his own emotions the same way. He won’t let Jaskier hide from him.

“I know you don’t.” Geralt takes a step closer, and Jaskier retreats backwards. “Please don’t hide from me, Julek.”

Jaskier’s mask cracks slightly, a hint of vulnerability peeking through before it’s once again covered up by a too-easy grin. “We can seek out Yennefer here, I’m sure she might have something that could help, and if not, Tissaia is sure to know. We could get our lives back, Geralt!”

“Our life is here.” When the words come out of his mouth, Geralt realises that he means it - their life is _here_. They once had another life, but they’re different people now, and they belong here, in this world, in this universe, not the previous one. “We’re _here_.”

Jaskier laughs, the sound slightly manic. “This isn’t our world.”

“It is,” Geralt asserts as firmly as he can, staring Jaskier straight in the eyes to try and convey his sincerity. “We belong here. This is our world, this is who we are.”

“Don’t you want to go back?” Jaskier spreads his arms wide. “We could go back to who we were. I could - I could be human again. Don’t you want that?”

There’s no weight to his words, nothing that indicates he believes any of it, so Geralt decides to switch tactics. “So you prefer me as a witcher. You prefer it to how I am now.”

“What?” Jaskier exclaims, sounding faintly alarmed. “Of course not, sweetheart, I love you the way you are now.”

“Exactly,” Geralt murmurs, taking a few quick steps so he’s right in front of Jaskier. “Why would my feelings for you be any different?”

“Because no one could want me like this,” Jaskier mutters under his breath, and his eyes widen when he realises what he’d just said. “I mean, that’s not…”

Geralt’s heart breaks for Jaskier, who’d lived decades without Geralt, decades filled with hatred and pain and fear, without anyone to show him tenderness or love, and though Geralt knows that he can’t turn back time and provide the love that Jaskier had lacked without Geralt by his side, he can provide it now. He’ll show Jaskier that he’s loved, that he deserves love, the same way Jaskier had done for him in another life. 

“I want this,” Geralt says fiercely. Reaching up to take Jaskier’s face in his hands, Geralt leans in to press a soft, tender kiss to Jaskier’s lips. “I love you like this, I love who you are now.”

A shaky exhale. “How can you even love me like this?” Jaskier whispers, quiet and vulnerable, his mask finally cracking. “How can you love a monster?”

“You’re not a monster,” Geralt bites out, vowing to _murder_ the people who’d made Jaskier think that. “And I love you because you’re you.”

He skates his hands over Jaskier’s shoulders, moving them down to settle around his waist. “Who you are now - neither of us are the same people. Neither of us would fit back in our old world, because we’re different people now.”

“But don’t you want to try?” Jaskier’s tone is desperate, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Don’t you think you would prefer it to - to -”

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt says honestly. The memory of his past life is fond, and Geralt doubts that the fondness will ever fade, doubts that he’ll ever stop feeling nostalgic for it, but it’s not his life. Not anymore. This is his life now, a bard by Jaskier’s side, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything else. “This is where I want to be. With you, here and now.”

“With… me,” Jaskier echoes, doubt colouring his voice. “But the other Jaskier…” 

“Reminded me of our old life, but I don’t want to go back.” Geralt pulls Jaskier closer, tugging at his limp arms until Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “I’m happy here. I really am.”

This is a different world from the one in his memories, but it’s a world that he belongs in. It’s a world with _his_ Jaskier.

Jaskier’s throat bobs. “Are you sure?” he questions softly. He pauses for a moment, sharp teeth tugging at his bottom lip. “I can’t give you what I used to be able to give you. I can’t sing for you, I can’t bring you such unfettered joy, I’m not…”

“ _I’ll_ sing for you,” Geralt rasps out. He’ll sing to Jaskier for the rest of his life. “And you do bring me joy, Jaskier. So much joy. Every single day.”

And finally, finally, a small smile appears on Jaskier’s face. “I…”

Geralt leans in, kissing the upward curve of Jaskier’s lips, and Jaskier kisses back desperately, teeth nipping at Geralt’s lips. Their bodies press closer together, Jaskier’s broad figure warm against Geralt’s own, and Geralt knows that _this_ is where he belongs - in this world, here and now, in Jaskier’s arms.

“You make me so happy,” Geralt murmurs when they break apart. Jaskier is staring into his eyes, and Geralt marvels at the beauty of that bright gold, at the sheer love that glows in them. 

“Not as much as you make me happy,” Jaskier whispers back, and a grin breaks out across Geralt’s face at the words. 

“I disagree,” Geralt says, deliriously happy as Jaskier nuzzles his cheek with a pleased sigh. 

“Mm,” Jaskier hums. “Love you, but you’re wrong.”

Geralt opens his mouth to make a retort - _nothing_ in the world makes him happier than Jaskier does, and he’s certain that no one could possibly surpass the sheer magnitude of joy that he feels whenever he’s with Jaskier - but Jaskier shuts him up with another kiss, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Geralt’s wild curls. 

Laughing against Jaskier’s mouth, Geralt sinks into the kiss, letting his hands roam up Jaskier’s broad, armoured chest, over strong shoulders that he loves so much, until Jaskier’s face is in his hands, the raised skin of his scar warm underneath Geralt’s palm.

When Geralt draws back, slightly out of breath, he opens his eyes to meet a soft, tender gold, looking at him with a dizzying amount of love and affection.

“Our world,” Geralt mumbles, drunk on the kiss and on the heady sensation of Jaskier’s eyes on him. “Ours.”

“Ours,” Jaskier agrees, smiling bright and sweet and joyful, and Geralt will do anything he can to put that smile on Jaskier’s face every day for the rest of his life.

When Jaskier leans in again, promise bright in his eyes, Geralt meets him halfway, memories of the past put behind him as Jaskier holds him tight in his arms. 

There’s nowhere else that Geralt would rather be. It’s their world, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there were hints of buffskier in there. you know i had to snfksdjn
> 
> this is,, fucking 17k and literally nothing happened but a whole heap of feels, this wasn't supposed to be longer than 5k i SWEAR, but no, jaskier (x2) and geralt had to go and have Feelings
> 
> also - this is my first finished multichapter fic, and i'm really proud of that! i have 6 other wips posted (woops) which i have yet to finish lmao

**Author's Note:**

> please do check out my reverse au if you haven't already, and my other witcher!jaskier series if you, like me, love witcher!jaskier a LOT
> 
> come find me on tumblr [@jaskicr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/) and scream at me about witcher jaskier!


End file.
